


Breathe

by Cadyjanissss



Series: CadyJanis [1]
Category: Mean Girls (2004), Mean Girls - Richmond/Benjamin/Fey, cady heron/janis sarkisian - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, LGBTQ Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadyjanissss/pseuds/Cadyjanissss
Summary: Cady Heron is a new student at north shore whose dodgy decisions end up with another girl getting hit with a bus. Oh, and some confusing feelings for one of her best friends. Its clear, its gonna be a rough year.(Inspired by the Musical Mean Girls!)





	1. Binti

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Guys! Cady and Janis have a special place in my heart, Hope you enjoy this story!! Comment what you want to see happen in future chapters!

Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t freak out. Its just school. Just. School. Just normal teenage kids. Ready to eat you. To tear you apart, to feast on your naïve, homeschooled flesh.   
Breathe. Breathe, Cady. It will all be ok. 

Fear tingles through my veins, flooding my nervous system. Why, God, why did I have to do this? It was bad enough that I had to leave my home, the people and places I had always known and loved. I had to leave the sun-dried grasses of Kenya, the ground where I took my first steps, said my first words, found my love for nature and animal care. And now, I live here. Chicago. With my mom and dad, my only allies. Its gonna be a rough year. 

“Cady? Honey, you have to get out of the car.” My mothers voice snaps me back to reality. As do the car horns of the several angry mothers behind us. I swat down the passenger mirror to take one quick glance at myself, kiss my mom goodbye, and hop out of the car. “Hey, I love you, Binti. Good Luck.” I smile warmly and give her hand a quick squeeze, pulling away to enter into the place that terrifies me most. I hear the sound of my mom’s junky old Toyota four runner squeaking away down the road, and I realize I am now, truly, all alone. 

 

The hallways of Northshore high are filled with every type of teenager there could be. Dancers, academics, jocks, jv jocks, girls who look like they eat their feelings and girls who look like they don’t eat. They remind me of the animals back home, all different, all vulnerable, drinking from the watering hole, anticipating attack. 

The school is bigger than I remember from orientation. The rooms seem larger, wider, the ceiling seems taller. It seems like every square inch of this place is covered with students. The walls are white, almost like an insane asylum. They should paint them pink, like the Swedish prisons do. It would make everyone more calm. I’ve never seen this many people in one place in my life. It’s a tad terrifying.   
Against the wall right by the girl’s bathroom sits a blond girl. She’s pretty, almost too pretty. She resembles a barbie doll I once had in Kenya, except unlike my doll, she is not wearing safari gear, and is instead decked in full head to toe pink. She’s talking to an equally pretty brunette girl wearing a lighter shade of pink. She’s several inches shorter than the blonde girl, and her face exudes anxiety. She’s frantically talking to the blonde girl and twirling her silky-looking hair around her fingers. My heart twinges, and I feel a pang of empathy for this girl. We’ve never spoken, yet I feel that we might be going through the same things. I make a mental note to reach out to her once I become more acclimated. 

The rush of students pushes me from class to class. I swear, there were moments my feet didn’t touch the ground. My pulse rushes, my hands become clammy, and I’m sure I’m sporting some serious pit stains. Great Cady. That’s great. Have an anxiety attack your first day here. That will bring you friends. I swat the negative thoughts out of my head. I don’t need them. Not here. Not today. 

My anxiety isn’t something I am ashamed of. I was diagnosed with mild anxiety when I was 8, after a sever anxiety attack for absolutely no reason at all. I was just 8 years old, walking with my dad to get water, my little feet kicking up dust and soaking up the Kenyan sun, when I started gasping for air. My eyes welled up with tears, my hands grew clammy, my mind started racing and my heart beating, and I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe. It’s something I live with and deal with, but I do NOT let it control me. I decided that when mom and dad told me we would be returning to America. Its my senior year, my name is Cady Heron, I am normal, and I will be ok. This mantra got me through the plane ride, and it will get me through this year. It has to. It will. I’m sure it will. 

 

Somehow, by the grace of God, I make it to 4th period. Not without bumps, though. I was 4 minutes late, seeing as the bathroom line was 8 years long thanks to some redhead girl puking her guts out in the only working stall. I creak the door open, hoping to slip in without notice. This, of course, is not the case. 

“Ah. Miss Heron! Nice of you to grace us with your presence. Tell me, does Kenya have no punishment for tardiness?”, My teacher mocks. The class laughs mildly, probably reveling in my embarrassment. 

“No Maam, I mean Yes Maam, I mean-“, I give up trying to retain dignity. “I’m sorry, the bathroom line was long.” 

Mrs. Whatever her name is snorts rudely, then motions for me to find a seat. I slip into the nearest one I can see, ready to end my public execution. Why, why do these things happen to me? 

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you, Dawn Schweitzer saves it for her boyfriend. Hes not even here today, but she’s an irrational bitch.” A voice warns me from behind. Its soft and smooth, yet deep and a tad bit raspy, sending shivers down my spine. I ache to see who it belongs to, but decide against it, seeing as I don’t want to further piss of the teacher whose name I still haven’t learned. Dawn Schweitzer can deal with it for today.   
“Ill find a new seat tomorrow, but I’m staying here today”, I whisper back to the phantom voice behind me. I hear a faint laugh and am very aware that the owner of the voice is right behind me. I still don’t turn around, pretending to care about the physics lesson. “Damn, she’s a tough one. Good going.” The voice commends. I smile shyly. 

The rest of the class goes by quickly. Its mostly just a review of the previous year, and even though I didn’t learn it at this school, I know basically all of the information. The bell rings before I even have time to pack up. I shove all of my pencils and books back into my beat-up Jan sport backpack I’ve had for 8 years. Then I remember the voice. I whip around to meet its owner, only to be greeted by an empty desk. Its bare, except for a very tiny “J.S.” carved into the top right corner. I take note of it, gather the rest of my things, and head out. 

 

Lunch comes next, thank God. I head towards the cafeteria, dodging jocks throwing footballs and girls sharing lip-gloss. The cafeteria is a sight to see. Hundreds of little circle tables surround giant buffet tables of mass-produced food. Jocks and Cheerleaders, nerds and “ethnic” kids all sit near each other yet could not be more separated. Its nice, interesting, and slightly unsettling. It reminds me of Kenya. 

Kenya. I miss it so much. I miss the sun, the water, the views. I miss the little beaten path I made when I was six, kicking dust and setting stones along it, guiding my family to the little stream near our camp. I miss the animals, the birds you heard at night and in the morning. I miss the smell of the grass right after rain, the feeling of mud and ground, real ground, not cement. I miss my home. My forever home. I miss it so much, I don’t even realize that I’ve been standing in the same spot in the entrance to the cafeteria, eyes closed, smiling like a freak, for about two minutes. Crap. 

I swing my eyes open, hoping nobody noticed. I see nobody, nobody seems to see me. I look from table to table, but I don’t seem to see anyone who I could sit with. The bathroom seems to call my name. I make my first move in minutes, practically sprinting to the girl’s bathroom stall. 

I throw the door open, looking in the mirror to see a girl I don’t even like. She has light red hair, like me. Freckles, like me. She’s wearing a flannel, dressed exactly like me. Its Cady. Anxious Cady. I recognize this girl. I haven’t seen her in so long. Your quitting! Quitter! I feel a voice in my head yell. My hands get damp and sweat drops from my forehead. I force deep breaths out of my lungs. 

“No.” I say, out loud. I’m not letting this get the best of me. I’m not quitting. I’m regrouping. 

“Weirdo.” I hear another voice, a real voice. I look up to see another girl, staring at me like in insane. I decide now is a good time to retreat. I choose the one farthest from the door, plop my bag down, and sit down, unwrapping the pb&j sandwich my made for me. Its gonna be a rough year.


	2. Meet the Plastics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet the plastics. Oh, and the best people youll ever meet.

I nibble slowly at my sandwich, fighting back tears. I don’t know why I’m crying. Today hasn’t been awful. It’s actually been okay. I just can’t handle my emotions. 

The bathroom door swings open with a bang, sending a jolt of energy through me, and waking me from almost a mental slump of despair. I pray that whoever it is will just pee quickly and go, not bother me, not ask questions. Nobody cares enough to do that. Cady. What makes you think they want to help you?

My prayers, unfortunately, are not answered, as a pair of black doc martens and another pair of comfy looking converse stand right in front of my stall. 

“You have been in there a very long time! You’re either doing drugs, vaping, or constipated from using drugs!”, a particularly vivacious voice calls out. I hear another, deeper voice laughing. I snicker at the thought that someone would think I would do drugs, having never even held hands with a boy. I then realize that I should end this little drug rumor before it gets out, so I hop up and swing the door open. 

In front of me stands two people, a boy and a girl, one tall, one barely taller. The boy looks nice, with very rosy cheeks and a mess of sandy blonde hair. Hes wearing a George Michael shirt with a blue flannel over it. I smile at him. I get a good vibe from him. “Hi, I’m Damián. But you can call me Sasha fierce. I am unapologetically gay, and absolutely loving your hair color!” Damian reaches out and takes a lock of it. “See Jan, this is the color that I want!” 

I turn to the girl, and I’m struck. She’s tall, taller than me by several inches, shorter than Damián by about 2. She has raven black hair that slowly makes its way to blonde at the tips, and her eyes are a honey like brown, and a dark plum color covers her lips. She’s wearing fishnet stockings underneath ripped jean shorts with a plain black shirt and platform doc martens. I realize that I’ve been staring at this girl way too long, and I ease my gaze. 

“Hi. I’m Janis.” She states plainly, extending a ring-clad hand to me. I shake it, surprised by how strong her grip is. Pardon my language, but this girl exudes Big dick energy. 

“Um, Hi. I’m Cady. And I wasn’t doing drugs, I promise. I… I was just” I stammer. Damian laughs. 

“No need, Cady. We understand, High schools a bitch.” He takes my hand, and I feel a warm energy run through me. “We know its tough being new, so we thought we would be your starter companions until you get your grip here!” 

“Basically, we’re gonna help you, Caddy. I know its Cady, but I’m gonna call you Caddy. Anyway, why did you stop being homeschooled?” 

Do I tell them I’m from Africa? They don’t seem like the kind to judge someone for being different, so I go for it. “Well, I just moved here from Kenya. So, I wanted to get socialized…” 

Janis snickers. “You’ll get socialized all right.” The snicker sounds familiar. I brush it off. 

Damian takes my hand and leads me out to the lunch room, walking me from table to table and making a lot of the same observations that I made earlier. We laugh together, as Janis walks behind us, plucking unfinished food from people’s trays. We make a full circle of the room, not stopping until I notice two familiar faces. It’s the two girls from the hallway. They’re sitting next to each other at a table near the front, joined by another, much blonder girl. This girl is perfect. Her dark blonde hair falls in large curls, her blue eyes pierce through whoever she looks at, her pink lips look ready to bite someone’s heart out. She’s wearing a white denim jumpsuit, white platform heels, and a shiny “R” necklace. I don’t even have to ask. I know. This girl is a predator. The Apex Predator. 

 

“Yeah, we call those three the plastics. That girl your staring at, that’s Regina George. She will murder you with her bright pink smile. That brunette one, the one jittering with fear? That’s Gretchen Wieners. She’s nice, but if you tell her one secret, it will get out, no doubt about it. And that other blonde one, that’s Karen Smith. She’s the dumbest person you will ever meet. She’s simple, hot, and will probably end up as a hand model someday.” Damian explains to me. 

Janis grabs my arm, sending a bolt of electricity through me. “Stay away from them Cady, Ok? Regina will ruin your life if you let her, so don’t let her. Okay. We don’t want you to get hurt.” Her voice is tripping with sincerity, like this girl is bad enough to make her feels this much concern for a complete stranger. 

I nod my head, and we move on. But I can’t help but look back at the plastics as we leave, catching one more glimpse of pink before the door slams shut. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Its been about two weeks since I met Janis and Damian, and its already the best decision I’ve made. 

Damian has taught me the ropes of north shore, and Janis has been my lifesaver. Both of them are incredibly unique. Damian is warm and loving, very physically affectionate. He loves to talk me up, help me find outfits, and play with my hair. Hes like the brother I never had, and I am so thankful for him. 

Janis. Janis is different in so many ways. She’s warm, but in a different way. She’s not extremely touchy or affectionate, and her sentences drip with sarcasm. Every once and a while, she’ll grab my arm, or touch my shoulder, and a warmth seems to spread through me. She’s not exceptionally girly, but that doesn’t bother me, because neither am I. She’s strikingly beautiful, with sad, dark eyes and a fair complexion. Her laugh is infectious, and when she hugs me, I feel different. She’s extremely interested in my life in Kenya, and when she asks about it, her eyes light up, and it makes me want to sit there for days, even making up stories, just to keep that light there. Its confusing. I need to get my head on straight. 

Janis, Damian and I (Or “The Misfits” as Janis so lovingly named us) sit on my bed. It’s the first time they’ve been to my house, and I don’t know why, but I’m nervous. There’s no real reason to be, but I am. My parents are cool, my room is clean, we have snacks, so there’s no reason to be nervous. No reason, Cady. Calm Down. Were all talking about our upcoming physics test, how unprepared we are for it. 

“Oh. My. God. Caddy, is this you riding an elephant?” I look up from my textbook to see Janis standing over my bedside table, peering at a small photo resting there.

“Oh My God, No! Don’t look at that, that’s to embarrassing!” I lunge across the bed to grab it from her. She pulls it back, teasing me with our height difference and the fact that there’s no way I can reach it. 

“Nah, I think that’s pretty cool. You seem like a badass. I like that.” The words ring in my ears, and I hope she can’t see me blushing. Why am I being so weird? She’s just my friend. 

After that, an awkward 10 second silence follows as Janis pretends to read the textbook, and Damián scrolls through his twitter feed. I gulp. I don’t know what possesses me to bring this up, but I do. 

“What’s so bad about Regina George?”. The words hang in the air as both of them shoot their heads up towards me. Damian laughs incredulously, while Janis’s eyes hold a fire in them, I haven’t seen before. 

“Don’t even get me started, Caddy”, Janis states. “That girl is pure evil. She makes you think she’s nice. She’ll smile at you, maybe compliment your hair or your skirt or your bracelet, and then she’ll turn right around to her minions and talk crazy amounts of shit about you.” 

I blink, remembering a situation just at school today where I shyly bumped into Regina in the bathroom and was complimented on my Kenyan bracelet. My face turns beet red. 

“Ah. I see.” I sense tension in the air, so I figure it might be a better idea to play into the hatred of the plastics. It might not be my own feelings, but hey, they’re the first friends I’ve had. I don’t wanna have none. “Well, Regina invited me to join them for lunch for the rest of this week. I said id think about it, but I won’t do it now, obviously.” 

Janis’s eyes flared. “Caddy Do not. Don’t do it. Seriously, stay away from Regina George. She is pure evil.” Her voice trembles. I stare blankly. 

“Okay, I won’t. I promise.” 

I’m slightly annoyed. So far, Janis Hasn’t really given me any good evidence for why Regina is such a monster. All I’ve gotten is passionate warnings. Maybe Regina and Janis had a falling out, and Janis just hasn’t healed from it. Maybe ill just decide for myself what I think of Regina George. 

I don’t share this thought with thought with them. I don’t have to. I go back to discussing the physics test, stealing glances at Janis, who lays across my bed with her legs propped against my headboard, playing with an elephant trinket she found on my floor. Her eyes are almost childlike, her smile has softened, and she looks peaceful. Locks of black-to-blonde hair cascade down the foot of my bed, almost scraping the carpet. I smile. She really is beautiful. Cady. Stop it. Why are you feeling these things? This isn’t normal. 

I break from my hazy state and focus back on Damián, who seriously does not understand newtons laws.


End file.
